Deserter
by XTC KET DRONE
Summary: A fake knight, a sadistic bandit, large drunkard and a young deserter each flee from their own troubles and attempt to find meaning in life as they roam Westeros. Even as the world falls in flames about them.


_I'm sitting in the cold hard ground_

_Never 'gain to make a breath_

_A Jaded life and empty death_

_And broken mind..._

_Tombstone of Warwick Partell_

A small group of men traped through the forest at a leisurely pace, the setting sun providing a warm reddish light that barely reached the ground through the thick beech treetops. Further to the west stood slightly darker pine woods, where light rarely reached and it was also the place this particular group of men had made their home. The forest itself was not huge, although big enough. Chiefly known for its richness and even more so for the many poachers that roamed it. The game here wasn't what drew them, although the deer was common. Rather, it was the lack of guards who roamed through here, the local baron who owned this land had long since died of some disease of the mind, and his liege lord was off fighting some war against the rebels to the north and had no time to attend to administrative matters as minor as this. Hence the woods had become known for the bandits and poachers who roamed them, most trade caravans avoiding it like the plague. Although, the local peasantry would often make its way up here despite the risk, the tolls of war had left everyone who had no land a poor man and the immense supply of food here allowed anyone to survive provided they could protect what they had caught.

The leader of the group looked at the rest of them, he was the only one wearing real armour. A thick boiled leather jerkin, covered in dirt and grime. His weathered face and grey hair showed his age and experience, yet the way he looked now seemed more weary than anything. The other three men with him where all younger, "Dirk" "Rags" and "Pygmy". None of them really held anything of value other than Iron cunt Kevin as they called him. Kevin had been taking them through the woodlands, that he also claimed he had rightfully owned before the Lannisters had taken it from him. Although, none of the others believed him. It was obvious he was from further north, and it was more than just his accent that betrayed him. Rather, the common occurrence of getting lost had been a habit of his, and though he would snarl and shout whenever it was suggested, we knew he had left the same reason we had.

Rags looked down at the ground and spat, a little bit of his last meal going with it. Gristle from the pig he knew, it was to be expected. The others would get the better stuff out of the robberies, he was the youngest and weakest here, Iron cunt even called him his "Apprentice". Although what that meant he didn't know. Kevin was as craven as the rest of them...

A few hours later, with little conversation passing between them. They eventually passed a small stream and he knelt down with the others to drink, His own pale face and sad eyes reflected back at him, and they did little to hide his age. He was 19, and had barely dipped his toe in the world of bloodshed and slaughter that had led him here, but already he had learnt he wasn't cut out to be a soldier. Even this job would often leave him faint of stomach and face. But at the same time he couldn't go home. The disgrace would be appalling, and his own family would despise him. He had left them promising to become a knight, and yet on his first battle he had fled...The sight of dead men, was as always unpleasant. But never had he seen it on such a scale as the battle of stone mill. When Gregor Clegane's men had attempted entry to the river lands...

But still, his new life was good enough, they had food and water plenty and whilst they robbed people it rarely ended in proper bloodshed. Although Dirks sadistic streak was getting a little too much at times. It was bearable enough. Soon Rags found himself wondering what Dirk would do this time, they where about to find their next caravan after all. The short wiry man had been ill the last two weeks, and so had not been able to assist them in their robberies. Pygmy, as huge as he was had dragged him the rest of the way back here leaving Kevin and Rag to try to rob passers by. Fortunately most of these "Passers" where an elderly man or woman and though Rag had felt bad afterwards he knew they'd of starved if they hadn't relieved them of their extra goods and coin. Sometimes though, he wondered if it might have been better that Dirk had just died instead of recovering as he was. After all, he had never met such a vulgar man, someone who pleasure in stripping his captives of everything. Including their flesh...

A few minutes later, Kevin raised his hand and nodded in the direction of the small road. Three wagons rolled slowly across the ground, being pulled by a mule each and a cover over each one hiding the contents. Implying it could be valuable. The false knight spoke, his voice crackled with age and dust "_All right listen up, Rags you and Dirk are gunna scream for help, me and Pygmy will sneak up on those who stay with the caravan and cut their throats open. You two join us once you get rid of the ones who help you...Looks like theirs only four or five of em. Shouldn't be too hard __if ya don't fuck up__" _you mean not too hard for you old man, Rags thought coldly. Odds where they'd only take the noises suspiciously and maybe even kill them before asking what the problem was. These men looked like soldiers too, men at arms for the Duke and taking supplies to the war. But still, a man needs to eat...

They slipped around the edge of the bushes, keeping out of sight of the road, when Dirk leapt to the ground and screamed "Help!" following his idea Rags layed down clutching his stomach and began to fake cough. Within seconds two of the guards had thundered towards them, dashing through the bushes with swords drawn. Both of them wore mail armour and one had a half helm the other nothing but a coif over his head. They approached Rags and Dirk cautiously. Finally, after a few seconds passed yet what to Rags felt like a few hours, one of them knelt down next to Dirk to check him gasping for air as he spoke, the short run obviously making him out of breath 

"_You allri-"._

The bandits dagger punched through the exposed cheekbone of the man wearing the half helm, and Dirk grabbed him as he rose, using the falling bodies weight to lever himself up.

The surviving Guard leapt at Rags who had stood up by then, swinging wildly at him. The robber tried his best to parry and dodge with the small dagger he had, but knew he was at a disadvantage. For a few seconds they danced back and forth, with the soldier holding the upperhand. Suddenly the guards blade swung into a tree, and the small dagger flashed in Rags hand as he leapt forward. However the soldiers studded boot found its way to his face and he fell backwards clutching his jaw. His enemy loomed over him, a menacing look in his eye as he drew his own long knife to replace his stuck sword. Rags whelped and was about to scream when the man stopped, stared vacantly for a few seconds and then coughed out a burst of blood into the bandits face. This was swiftly followed by another set of stabs to the back making him jerk and stutter repeatedly. Within seconds the guard was dead.


End file.
